Reading With Rascals
by hiddenhibernian
Summary: When all else fails, Hermione turns to books – in this instance, she needs some comfort reading to make up for her disastrous day so far. Running into Malfoy was not part of her plan, nor was world domination. Sometimes, these things just happen.
1. Enchanted Encounters

**This is a birthday gift for 4fanci - I hope you enjoy it!  
**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 **Enchanted Encounters**

 **-oOo-**

Hermione brushed past the shelf bulging with well-thumbed issues of _The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle_. She wasn't exactly sure what she was looking for in the bewilderingly large bookshop _–_ just like Hogwarts, the inside didn't match the outside _–_ but wizarding misconceptions about the people they shared a country with was unlikely to cut the mustard.

The next shelf had a pink sign with _Enchanted Encounters_ in curly writing on top. This was more like it, Hermione decided and pulled out a book at random. _The Wayward Warlock_ by Fifi LaFolle had a witch embracing a wizard almost twice her size on the cover, gazing adoringly into his eyes.

Promising, at least for those who preferred not to engage their brain. Hermione opened a page at random.

 _Ermengardia's breath quickened, and she clutched her wand closely to her chest. "I can't, Urban – I'm not worthy of you! Your prospects..."_

" _Damn my prospects!" he growled, advancing on her until she could no longer escape his manly embrace._

Back on the shelf it went.

Unwilling to give up just yet, Hermione's hand hovered between _The Sorceress and The Rake_ and _The Potion of Love_ before she spotted _Araminta's Adventure_.

 _The enormity of what she had done finally appeared to Araminta._

" _I'm ruined!" she sobbed. "I've destroyed my reputation, no decent wizard will ever marry me now!"_

 _Her aunt did not reply; she only patted her unfortunate niece's shoulder, in mute understanding of her poor chances of contracting a decent marriage after her escapade._

Hermione flicked to the end, giving Fifi LaFolle the benefit of the doubt despite her misgivings.

" _Oh," Araminta panted, confused and still a little afraid. "Is that what it's supposed to feel like?"_

" _No, my little one," Cornelius said tenderly, a smile at her simplicity hover around his masculine mouth. "This is only the beginning. I will show the proper way to be husband and wife –"_

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Hermione put the book back on the shelf, not bothering to waste her time on the other four-hundred volumes surrounding it. Comfort reading was one thing; rotting one's brain cells with sexist tripe was quite another.

Maybe something slightly more cerebral was in order. She spotted the travel section by the large bay window at the back and brightened up. Escaping England while staying firmly within the realm of the real world might be exactly what she needed.

Identical, barely read copies of _Break with a Banshee_ took up the first shelf and a half. _Gadding with Ghouls_ and _Marauding with Monsters_ followed, and Hermione didn't bother bending down to confirm if the theme continued. _Year with the Yeti_ dominated the second shelf. She wondered if Lockhart was still in St Mungo's. It had been a few years since her last visit.

A kind person would buy a few copies (they would surely be cheap) and bring along for him to sign, spreading some badly needed joy on the Janus Thickey Ward. Hermione made a mental note to mention it to Neville the next time she saw him.

At the moment, Hermione possessed all the milk of human kindness of a badly injured Hippogriff.

Earlier, Harry and Ron had valiantly tried to comfort her, but the supreme efforts required to keep "I told you so" unuttered rather spoilt the effect. Ginny had taken pity on her, buying her an ice cream and sitting with her outside Fortescue's in companionable silence. The passers-by had ruined the peace, however, and Hermione had stalked off in search of solitude.

She had entered the little bookshop on an impulse, curious what a competitor to the behemoth Flourish and Blotts would be like. They had little to fear from Grumwell's; the shop specialised in used books, and their selection appeared to be more of the hard-to-sell than hard-to-find variety.

Still, there was no one else in there, and that suited Hermione just fine. During two decades of reading she still hadn't managed to leave a bookshop empty-handed, so she was reasonably confident she would find something if she kept looking.

 _Unfogging the Future_ by Cassandra Vablatsky was unlikely to be it, however. Quickly putting it back on the shelf she retreated to the other side of the room, blessedly free from Divination, Astrology and other make-believe disciplines.

The cheerful yellow sign proclaiming she was in the Self-Help and Psychology section suggested Hermione had been slightly too optimistic.

Then again, maybe it was a sign. Maybe she had been wrong this whole time, and the crushing defeat this morning was Fate's way of showing her she needed to change her ways. Hermione was no stranger to the school of hard knocks, and at least her recent humiliation would be a bit more bearable if there was a purpose to it.

Selecting a book at random, she almost dropped _Feel The Fear And Do It Anyway – Quidditch For Acrophobiacs_ before putting it back where it belonged, right next to _Spontaneous Magic – A Guide For Anxious Parents._ One had to draw the line somewhere, and happily flying in the air on an enchanted piece of wood – for _fun_ – did it for Hermione.

Still, the title was disturbingly apt. Perhaps she should give this another go. She closed her eyes and grabbed a book at random. Slowly opening her eyes again, she stared down at the volume Fate had guided her to. Hermione didn't even need to open _The Road Less Travelled – Witches Who Embrace Sexual Magic_ to know it did not hold the answers she was looking for.

On the bright side, she could go back to treating Divination with the contempt it deserved.

* * *

Hermione sighed. The biography section, boasting no less than three editions of _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ did not appeal to her. Nor did _Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix_ , the third volume in the recently-published work delving into Harry's life and the second war. Living through it once had been quite enough, thank you very much.

Right next to it sat a battered copy of _He Flew Like a Madman_ by Kennilworthy Whisp. Hermione couldn't believe her eyes.

Ron had gone on and on about it. Apparently it described the Quidditch secrets of someone called "Dangerous" Dai Llewellyn, whoever that was, and it was impossible to find a copy. And here it was, right in front of her.

Hermione may be a failure in most other aspects of her life, but at least she could get Ron a Christmas present that would finally put an end to his complaints about the homework planner in fourth year. Pity they weren't going out any longer – she would have got much more mileage out of it as his girlfriend. Then again, it was much nicer being friends with Ron than constantly fighting and making up.

Out of nowhere, while Hermione had been ruminating about Ron, a pale hand had appeared, stretching out to grab _He Flew Like a Madman_ right in front of her.

"Oh no, you don't!" Her own hand shot out, seizing the book at the same time as her unknown rival.

"Let go, I had it first!" There was a pull in the direction of a set of flowing black robes. Hermione was too busy pulling back to lift her head to see who they belonged to.

"Like fuck you did, I was here way before you!" Hermione dug her feet in and tugged, to no avail.

"Since when do you care enough about Quidditch to manhandle books, Granger?" The voice was amused and horribly familiar.

"Malfoy." Hermione sighed. "Just when I thought today couldn't get any worse."

"Granger, Granger." Malfoy tsk-ed and shook his head. "I'm disappointed in you. One would have hoped a war heroine would be able to see beyond petty school rivalries. It's what, seven years ago?"

"It's not – You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

"Never mind." She grinned; suddenly things were looking brighter.

"What's going on, Granger? Why are you smiling? Don't think I'm giving up this book to you," he warned her. "I've been looking for it since I was fifteen."

"And you can keep on looking. That copy is mine." She strengthened her grip. Fortunately the cover was leather and well worn, so getting a good hold was easy.

Malfoy noticed what she was doing and countered by weighing back on his heels. Hermione's knuckles turned white with effort, but she refused to relent. There was always the option of taking out her wand, but he would inevitably respond in kind and Hermione didn't want their stand-off to descend into a duel.

"Possession is nine tenths of the law, you know." He attempted to shift towards the front of the shop, but Hermione clung on like a limpet.

"Then you've got 45% at the moment, versus my 55%."

"Come on, Granger. "I saw it first" didn't work in the playground, either."

"I was standing in front of the bloody bookcase when you barged in!"

"There you go with the swearing again. What has you so riled up?"

"Mind your own business, Malfoy." She didn't hold out much hope, though – why would he change the habit of a lifetime?

"I didn't think I'd be faced with a mystery when I Portkeyed back from Cannes this morning."

Hermione checked but failed to see any evidence his pale skin had been exposed to anything harsher than moonlight recently. "Didn't scrimp on the sunscreen charms, did you?"

"Protecting one's skin from direct sunlight is recommended by both Muggle and wizarding health care professionals," he said primly.

"Did you even go outside?" Her voice quivered slightly, imagining Malfoy hiding in a dark room smothering himself with sunscreen, cowering from any daylight slipping through the cracks.

"Only mad dogs and Englishmen stay in the sun at midday. It's perfectly possible to have a civilised holiday in the shade." He pulled a little at the book, to test her grip. She pulled back.

"I'm sure you did. One wouldn't want one's complexion to suffer," Hermione agreed.

"Are you making fun of me?" he asked suspiciously.

"I don't need to, you're making such a good job of it yourself."

Malfoy opened his mouth, but seemed to realise he was beaten. He changed the subject instead."I'll find out what's ailing you pretty soon, you know. Really, Granger – if this is what you've been reduced to, things must be desperate."

"Nice try, Malfoy. I'm not letting go of the book. Not that it's any of your business, but it's for Ron." She shifted her hand a little – it had started aching a few minutes ago.

"Ah, the Weasley Wonder. I thought you'd split up?" He looked disappointed – presumably it hadn't occurred to him Hermione might occasionally give a book away, rather than hoarding them all to herself.

"We did. We're still friends, though, and Ron has also been looking for this book for ages. He'll be so pleased I've found it." Hermione smiled – imagining Ron's surprise made today almost bearable.

"You didn't, though. Strictly speaking I found it." Malfoy managed to sound very reasonable as he rained on her parade, which only made her more annoyed.

"Behind my outstretched hand, you mean."

"The air is free." The corner of his mouth twitched, and Hermione couldn't stop herself from laughing at his playground defence. They seemed to be stuck.

* * *

 **The second and last chapter will be posted next week.  
**


	2. Quid Pro Quo

**Happy birthday, 4fanci! I hope you enjoy the second part. I used a somewhat liberal interpretation of 'to share', but hey** **– Malfoys just aren't very good at it...  
**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 **Quid Pro Quo  
**

 **-oOo-**

They stood there, each clutching the book with all their might in case the other made an unexpected bid for it, and suddenly Hermione realised how ridiculous they would look if anyone were watching. Laughter bubbled up until she was powerless to stop it, her hand shaking but still holding on to the blasted book.

"Do you realise," she managed to get out in between gasping for breath and laughing like her life depended on it, "what the headlines would be tomorrow if anyone saw us? 'Granger/Malfoy Quidditch Standoff – Two Injured'!"

"'Shopping Shenanigans – Customers Battling It Out In Seedy Bookshop!'" Malfoy entered into the spirit of the thing.

"You used 'shop' twice," Hermione helpfully pointed out before coming up with the next one. "'War Veterans' Tug-of-War'?"

"I prefer "Granger Goes Barmy – She Flew Like A Madwoman". You don't think you could levitate a little, just to prove the point?"

Abruptly, Hermione remembered why she had entered Grumwell's in the first place. All the laughter drained away, and left was only the horribly crushed feeling she had been stuck with since the Wizengamot this morning.

"Don't worry," she said bitterly. "'Granger Goes Barmy' is virtually guaranteed to be the headline in the _Prophet_ tomorrow, regardless of our current impasse."

"Why don't you just tell me? Cut out the middle man, as it were." If it had been someone else, Neville or Ginny or even Percy, Hermione would have thought he was trying to be kind, offering her a chance to talk about it. There was no jeering in his voice, and his eyes were a soft grey rather than the cold glare she remembered from school.

"Middle woman, unfortunately – I saw Rita scribbling away at the back." While Hermione had approved of Kingsley's post-war amnesty for less serious crimes in principle, there was no denying it added an extra layer of disagreeableness to her current predicament.

"Well, then," Malfoy said mildly, but made no further attempt to persuade her.

"I was in court this morning," Hermione heard herself say – apparently her subconscious had had enough of her dithering. "I've been working on draft legislation for house-elf rights for years."

She waited for the inevitable snort of contempt, but it didn't come. Yet.

"I finally managed to persuade the Wizengamot to give me a hearing. I gave my presentation, it all went well, and then –" Tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them away. "Then, the two house-elves who had agreed to testify took the stand and told everyone I'm considered a menace in the house-elf community. They came before the Wizengamot because they don't know how to make me stop, and begged for help. Minky broke down in sobs and had to be taken away before matter was dismissed."

"I see." Still no sneering from Malfoy, but it was surely only a matter of time. "Is your distress because you have been barking up the wrong tree, or because you think the house-elves were put up to it?"

"I don't know!" Hermione wailed. "I'm almost certain it's an intimidation tactic from their former masters to get rid of me, but then –" Then she wondered if it were true, if she had been blinkered to the true needs of house-elves and still stuck as her teenage self, so sure she knew what was best for everyone despite not having a clue.

"Does it matter?" Malfoy sure had a lot of questions today.

"Of course it bloody well matters, I'm not going to abandon a whole race just because it gets a bit more difficult to improve their lives," Hermione snapped. "They've enough to put up with without having me trying to help them if they really don't want me to, though." Thinking about it, going round in circles believing it was some sort of ruse and then imagining her name being mentioned with slightly less loathing than Voldemort's in the kitchens and laundries of the Wizarding world was driving Hermione deranged.

"In that case, I'll offer you a swap."

"Of what?" Hermione asked, completely lost. Had he not been listening to her pouring her heart out?

"I happen to own a copy of _A Treatise on House-Elfes and Their Usefulnesse in The Householde_ , which should give you the answer you're looking for. I'll let you have it in exchange for _He Flew Like a Madman."_

"Why?" Hermione didn't have the mental energy to attempt to out-Slytherin him. While _He Flew Like a Madman_ might be rare, the _Treatise_ was vanishingly so. Hermione hadn't even been sure it existed before Malfoy confirmed it.

For the first time, there wasn't a trace of the self-possession Hermione had loathed in his father. Malfoy didn't meet her eyes, preferring instead to inspect the floorboards. "Because Dobby was much kinder to me when I was a child than I deserved."

"So he was right, then? House-elves want to be free?" Hermione was suddenly itching to get out of the dusty bookshop and back to her makeshift office, to plan her comeback.

"I didn't say that – I have to give you some incentive to actually read the _Treatise_ , don't I?" The smirk was back, almost as if Malfoy was trying to hide his previous lapse.

"Don't worry, I'll take it. How do we do this?" Hermione strengthened her grip on the _He Flew Like a Madman_ , just in case Malfoy was trying to lull her into safety before making a grab for it.

"You stay here and I Apparate home to get the _Treatise_?" he suggested. "I assume you would rather not come along to the Manor."

"You assume correctly. What about this book, then?"

"I also assume you're not going to steal it, so presumably you would be well advised to pay for it while I root out the _Treatise_."

"You're letting me have it? After all this?" Hermione would have gesticulated to her aching hand holding the book, if she hadn't been busy trying to release the cramp from her other hand. Shifting hands had seemed a good idea at the time, but now she wasn't even sure she could draw her wand if she had to.

"You said you agreed."

"I did. Do you mean you actually trust me?" Hermione tried to wrap her head around the concept.

"I think I've known you long enough by now to tell, Granger."

"Fine. Great." This day made no sense at all to Hermione. "You're letting go then, are you?"

"Yes." He grimaced. "As soon as I can move my hand, anyway." He gingerly massaged the bit between his thumb and index finger, and eventually let the book slide out of his grasp. The Quidditch player in all his garish technicolour glory on the cover waved to them, and Hermione laughed. There was a pop, and when she looked up Malfoy had disappeared.

For a moment, she wondered if she had hallucinated the whole thing. He had been – nice, for want of a better word. Malfoys didn't do nice, at least not without a good reason. Yet, he had left her without the book he obviously wanted, and her side of the bargain was vastly better than his.

Paying two Galleons, twelve Sickles for _He Flew Like a Madman_ to the disinterested teenager manning the checkout, Hermione tried to pinpoint where her certainty Malfoy would keep his promise and be back soon was coming from. She was still racking her brain when a soft pop heralded his return.

"Got it, Granger?" His hair was ruffled and a cobweb was stuck to his temple; Hermione had to find the temptation to remove it.

She held up the book, and in response he let his robes swing open, revealing a dusty tome beneath.

"Maybe we should do this somewhere else," Malfoy suggested, and Hermione noticed the bored teen suddenly had cottoned on that two regulars of the _Daily Prophet_ front page had descended upon the sleepy shop.

"Yeah," she agreed. "Let's go to the coffee shop next door," Hermione heard herself suggest, seemingly without any conscious input from her side.

"Fraternising with the enemy, Granger?" He looked amused, and willing to be persuaded.

That was it, she realised. They didn't act like enemies anymore, either of them, as if they tacitly had agreed the past should stay where it belonged. The Wizarding world wasn't very big; if Hermione was going to continue judging people on decisions made before they came of age, she was going to spend the rest of her life at Weasley family reunions. While she didn't object to them in principle, there was precious little chance of having a meaningful discussion about Potions while being overrun with excited redheaded children.

Sometimes, you had to take a risk. Surprisingly, trusting Malfoy was a risk Hermione was willing to take (and there was always the matter of him proving his good faith by giving her the _Treatise_ as promised).

"No. I was just going to have coffee with an old classmate. Want to come?"

"You know what, I think I might. Do you realise our sources of gossip complement each other perfectly? What _did_ Finnigan do make Pansy break up with him?" He held the door open for her as they left the disappointed teen behind

"It was mostly that he existed, I believe," Hermione sighed. "That, and the fact that he snores like giant. I used to be able to hear him from the boys' dormitory before Professor Flitwick taught us Silencing charms."

It had started to rain outside, and they hurried the few steps across to the cafe next door.

"Pansy was always weak at Charms," Malfoy mused. "Still, you'd think she wouldn't be too proud to use earplugs if the going was good."

"This conversation is wrong on so many levels," Hermione said as they took a table at the back. "I don't have any opinion on that whatsoever."

"Aha!" Malfoy wagged a triumphant finger over the coffee-stained menu. "I knew there must be more to Finnigan than I thought if he managed to persuade both Chang and Sarah Fawcett to go out with him!"

Hermione had to laugh.

* * *

It wasn't until her laughing face was plastered all over the _Daily Prophet_ the next day that Hermione realised the cafe hadn't been as deserted as it had seemed. By then she didn't care; she was elbow-deep in archaic spells, untangling the bonds that had enslaved house-elves for centuries.

Malfoy didn't seem to care either; he dropped by her office with a broom in his hand (it looked expensive, but to Harry's disappointment Hermione failed to recall any other pertinent details about it afterwards).

"Been trying out your new tricks?" She was surprised to see him there, but pleased, too.

"I'm surprised Llewellyn survived as long as he did, I nearly fell off twice this morning. Did you see the paper?" He held up a wrinkled copy of the _Prophet_ , and Hermione inspected it more closely this time.

"They caught the cobweb in your hair, see?" She pointed and he snatched it back to scrutinise the photo.

"Cobweb? Granger, please – considering that I'd just handled you the key to house-elf emancipation, could you not at least have cleared the spider byproducts from my face?" He patted his temple, as if the offending cobweb still was there.

"I thought you liked spiders, being a Slytherin and all."

He shuddered. "Not after the Battle of Hogwarts. And that's snakes, not spiders – different animal."

"If you get a snake in your hair, you're on your own. Want a cup of tea, by way of compensation? I was just about to have a break." She tapped the ancient Muggle kettle with her wand, and it boiled merrily without any need for electrics.

Malfoy pulled out a chair and made himself at home, leafing through the various publications she had stacked on the side table. " _A Helping Hand – Domestic Services for Elderly Witches and Wizards,"_ he read out, raising his eyebrows to the skies. "Tired of cleaning up after Potter?"

"I figured it would be useful to get an idea of the alternatives to exploiting house-elves. I think it might help to be seen to offer a solution, not just take something away," she explained.

"You don't say, Granger. Public relations never were your forte, were they?" He tilted his chair backwards so he was balancing on two legs, dominating the small office.

"No," she said slowly. "But you were practically bred to have a quiet word in the Minister's ear, weren't you?"

"If we hadn't picked the wrong side in the war, I would have been schmoozing Shacklebolt as we speak. Unfortunately, my name is worth slightly less than dragon dung in the Ministry these days." Malfoy was matter-of-fact; Hermione didn't know him well enough to tell if it rankled.

She hoped it did, or her plan wouldn't work. "Which is why you are about to embark on a campaign to restore your name and claim your rightful place in post-war society," she informed him.

"Am I?" Malfoy was still balancing on two legs.

"Put that chair down before you knock over my filing pile." Hermione couldn't take the suspense any longer, not even in the name of persuading him to join the House-Elf Liberation Front.

Miraculously, he obeyed. "Am I right in surmising you're trying to convince me to join you by dangling the prospect of rehabilitation before me?"

"Yes. I can be friends with you in public as well, for good measure. Harry might be harder to convince."

"No thanks." Malfoy shuddered theatrically. "I'd like to pretend I have some pride left. As much as it pains me to admit, Granger, you may just have hit on a winning formula. I take it I will also be required to donate some funds to the cause?"

"Is that a problem?" The Malfoys may have lost in influence after the war, but according to rumour they were still the richest family in Britain.

"Not as such, I just like to know what I'm in for. I forgot to ask the crucial questions before committing once, and I'd prefer not to be caught out again." He touched his left arm with his fingers, almost like it belonged to someone else.

"Very well, then. Are you in?"

He bit down on his bottom lip until she was ready to twitch with impatience. Showing it would be fatal, however, so she held still. Finally, he deigned to open his mouth. "Yes, I am. The Wizarding world won't know what hit it."

He was dead right about that. Hermione didn't even bother hiding her smile, which was so wide it felt like her cheeks were going to split.

 **THE END**


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